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Days had already gone since the clamour inhabiting Temesvár's streets could last be heard.

The boy's hollers, those shouting, "Temeswarer! Temeswarer Nachrichten für alle!" to any and all passersby within earshot, had been replaced by the wind's hum, brushing stretches of greenery coating innumerable rolling hills.

By "La Cei Sapte Principi Electori", or, for fluidity of discourse, "The Seven Electors", the boy had climbed atop a stool he was in the habit, and was better known for it among his acquaintances, to take with himself wherever he may have wandered. Indefatigable, he had busied himself gesticulating vehemently as he persevered shouting, "Temeswarer! Temeswarer Nachrichten für alle!"

The building, formerly retreat and refuge to a Leopold Kayser, master baker whose culinary artistry had gained him esteem and renown throughout the aristocratic circles of the Austrian Empire, not in the least the hearts and thoughts of a number of young damsels, lest it be forgotten, was a well known local inn. A status which it had clearly obtained from the excellence of its cuisine and accommodations provided, its outer shell being of a rather uninspired and simplistic Austrian baroque.

"Good morning, sir!" exclaimed the boy as he repeatedly brought his hand to his chest, his gaze caught by one of the many couples strolling along Losonczy tér. "May I interest you in our fine daily publications?" he collected one of the newspapers standing by his feet, a gentle breeze constrained the corners of its pages in slight motions. "Quality reporting for demanding gentlemen!" the boy unfolded the newspaper with quick mastery, displaying its front page to the well-dressed man, who now stood before him.

His visage distorted by an assertive sunlight, the well-dressed gentleman leaned closer towards the boy, murmuring an indiscernible series of words to himself as he read a few lines of text.
"Well, my boy, perhaps another time," he nodded as he adjusted his light-grey top hat, which he sensed was about to reach the ground.

"Perchance it may interest your lovely bride?" the boy glanced towards the woman whose arm was locked to the gentleman's elbow, a broad smile, the likes of which had rarely been seen, adorned his youthful expression.

With a refined movement of her fingers, the woman spun the parasol which had revealed itself so indispensable during her stroll, its intricate lace trimmings framed the rather detailed illustration of a series of sunflowers upon its canopy. She grinned; a gentle blush stroked her cheeks, which unwittingly betrayed a vague anxiousness.

The well-dressed man chuckled nervously, "No, my boy. We are not a wedded couple." He grazed the cobblestones paving the ground with his toe cap as he lowered his gaze towards the hypnotic pattern they shaped.

"Oh. Why, my good sir. Pardon me, but you would be a veritable fool not to wed such a lovely young lady!" the boy shrugged his shoulders as he opened both his arms outwardly; he shook his head in disappointment.

"Such a charming young man," smiled the woman as she delicately grasped the boy's cheek amidst her index and middle finger. "Wouldn't you agree, Tobias?" she enquired of the well-dressed gentleman; the white roses nestled atop her hat brim had seized entirely the boy's scrutiny.

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